Swallowing thickly, Solomon kneels to Bruno's side, a sharp inhale and shaking exhale at the contact. In his mind, in his ears, like it's him and yet not, Bruno hears the dry and pained gasps of a phantom; a young man, a pained man, a desperate man, not him and not his fellow wizard, but of a fledgling sorcerer hardly in his twenties. Yelling. Mourning. Gasping for pain against the ground, the ache of utter tragedy. The magic exists regardless.
It hurts, and from how Solomon physically shudders along with Bruno at the waves of power, it's affecting both of them. But he'll shove himself behind the Southern wizard, breathing heavy, taking up Bruno's hands against both of his own as he tries to lift him up out of a fetal position, resting that pained weight against him.]
Breath. Follow instinct or it's just going to keep happening.
["Please------- Please, let me take it back!!!!!"
Hoarse words to the dead. Pointless crying from the wolf among the slaughtered lambs. Heaven won't hear you.
So call for help. Make them come from elsewhere. The mind rushes in desperation. To make a circle, a spell, a pleading. Drawing from phantom memories, phantom theories, the mystical and dark and forbidden.
Instinct says a circle is possible. Logic says you will die. Fear smells the blood in the air and feels the burn of your magic like bile in your throat.]
no subject
[He knows this scene. Very, very well.
Swallowing thickly, Solomon kneels to Bruno's side, a sharp inhale and shaking exhale at the contact. In his mind, in his ears, like it's him and yet not, Bruno hears the dry and pained gasps of a phantom; a young man, a pained man, a desperate man, not him and not his fellow wizard, but of a fledgling sorcerer hardly in his twenties. Yelling. Mourning. Gasping for pain against the ground, the ache of utter tragedy. The magic exists regardless.
It hurts, and from how Solomon physically shudders along with Bruno at the waves of power, it's affecting both of them. But he'll shove himself behind the Southern wizard, breathing heavy, taking up Bruno's hands against both of his own as he tries to lift him up out of a fetal position, resting that pained weight against him.]
Breath. Follow instinct or it's just going to keep happening.
["Please------- Please, let me take it back!!!!!"
Hoarse words to the dead. Pointless crying from the wolf among the slaughtered lambs. Heaven won't hear you.
So call for help. Make them come from elsewhere. The mind rushes in desperation. To make a circle, a spell, a pleading. Drawing from phantom memories, phantom theories, the mystical and dark and forbidden.
Instinct says a circle is possible. Logic says you will die. Fear smells the blood in the air and feels the burn of your magic like bile in your throat.]